


Merc vs Metal: Deadpool Gets Primed

by RodimusDoctor



Series: Merc Vs Metal [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Marvel Universe, Post-Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:24:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodimusDoctor/pseuds/RodimusDoctor
Summary: Something is brewing in Mexico, a threat of Cybertronian origin. Sam Witwicky, having received another Allspark vision, persuades Optimus Prime and his Autobots to head south to investigate. And hot on their trail... Deadpool! And Lockdown. And Cemetery Wind.





	1. A Very Bad First Strike

I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to Autobot and Decepticon alike. Planet Earth is no longer a sanctuary; we are hunted by the very humans we sought to protect. We must hide or face a terrible choice - be killed by the humans in an ongoing war of attrition, or become murderers ourselves.

And yet...

And yet here I am, in the country the humans call Mexico, with a mission to once again save this planet. Perhaps it is responsibility; after all, the threat is once more Cybertronian in origin. The threat is grave, and if unchecked could pose a danger to the galaxy, if not the universe.

But the real reason I would risk the lives of myself and my fellow Autobots for the humans who seek to kill us? Because one of them - a friend - asked me to.

Sam Witwicky, a human boy who grew into a man while helping us defeat Megatron and his followers on three separate campaigns. He absorbed some of the Allspark’s power, and had two visions of impending doom. One of those visions led to the defeat of the Fallen. The other was the catalyst for our current mission. He and his wife Karly accompany us; I suspect they still have a role to play in events to come. There is more to them, much more, than meets the eye. I hope this will not be the final mission for us, as we are but few: Bumblebee and Ratchet accompany me, while Dino and Jolt have scouted ahead. Others have answered our call from space - Pointblank’s team, the Targetmasters, have pledged themselves to our cause. And there have been hints of others as well.

But we lost contact with the Targetmasters. And with Seaspray, who transported us across the Gulf of Mexico to avoid the humans’ border crossings. The Wreckers have ceased contact, as have the Twins. And Sideswipe. We five Autobots and two humans might be all who stand between this new enemy and the total destruction of this world. Should we fail, you who have received this message must prepare for the danger to come. Know only that we gave our lives for the sake of this universe, for justice, for the freedom of all sentient...

Oh, put a sock in it, truck boy! Maybe if you didn’t talk so much, I might’ve had a harder time tracking your signal to its source. You’d probably still be talking in robo heaven long after the missiles hit.

Wade Wilson, by the way. Better known by the more marketable name of Deadpool. Thrown into this crossover story because the author thinks my name will get him more hits.

And is Sam Witwicky really going to be in this one? Mr. I’m-Not-Famous himself? Even the fans want this guy to die, especially after Indy 4. Why can’t he Just Do It?

Karly’s in it, too? Which ‘Bot is she going to call a bitch this time?

And look at that, Prime. I ramble almost as much as you. At least I’m known for it. Merc with a Mouth, and currently Mechamerc. With a Mecha Mouth. You’ll see.

But I will stop talking now. My missiles’re gonna hit your location in three, two, o...

 

Optimus Prime didn’t have time to ponder how a human had hacked into the Autobots’ comm frequency. Or to wonder how this human, this Dead Pool, could have tracked them to their current location so easily. And quickly. All he did have time for was to beat a hasty retreat from the broadcast tower he’d erected only an hour before. His sensors screamed at him about the incoming ordnance, which did indeed strike the tower and the spot he’d been standing on, exactly when the human said it would. The explosion destroyed the tower and a good chunk of land, and sent Optimus flying.

“Ungh!” he grunted when he hit the ground. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt.

He was back on his feet in an instant, shaken but ready. His mouth guard snapped into place, his battle blades extended, and his right forearm converted to his photon cannon. Bumblebee and the others would have seen and heard the explosion, but it would take them a few minutes to get here. Until then, he was on his own with an unknown adversary.

Optimus circled on the spot, taking in everything. His attacker was nowhere in sight, even from the direction the missiles had come from. If anything, the surrounding land looked flat and peaceful. It reminded him of a scene from North By Northwest, a film he had watched with Epps one quiet night in Diego Garcia. Ironhide had watched with them; he’d commented that there were several more fuel-efficient methods for terminating a single human on open ground with no cover. Que, who had been fiddling with new gadgets nearby, came over to give his thoughts on the conversation.

Epps had not appreciated the interruption, and eventually shouted that it was just a movie.

Happier times.

Now, Optimus racked his memory circuits for some of the strategies his old commerade in arms had suggested. A sniper was a very real possibility; however, his sensors showed no human or cybertronian life signs in the immediate vicinity, and the sky seemed clear (even of cropdusters). There were two cybertronian signals heading his way, but that would be Ratchet and Bumblebee. Then where...

“...and if there’s no cover above ground,” Ironhide had said, “go under it.”

“Nonsense!” Que had replied. “You’d never get that flying contraption into the ground.”

“Not the plane, rust-stain!” Ironhide had said. “With some standard-issue tunneling equipment...”

Optimus directed his scans down. There was something beneath him, something that was both cybertronian and organic.

The ground shook. Whatever it was, it was coming up. Optimus pinpointed the spot where it would break through and trained his blaster on it.

A large drilling machine burst up from the ground in front of the Autobot leader. Optimus shot it, and realized too late the machine was packed with explosives. The blast threw him almost all the way back to the crater where his communications tower had been.

And something else emerged from the ground. A mech, clearly built not from cybertronian technology, but from cybertronians. It was red, with swords on its back and blasters in each hand. Its head resembled a human head in a mask, and was also the source of the human life readings.

“Hi, Big Red!” the mech said, waving in a joyfully friendly way. “Heh, like I’m one to talk. Nice flame job. Not very gee one, though. I think the fans’re still pissed.” While saying all of that, he raised both blasters and fired. Optimus leapt sideways and avoided both shots, then fired in response.

“Dead Pool, is it?” he said. The red mech had dodged his return fire, and had amazing agility for something with such a slapped-together look. “What is the meaning of this attack?” He wanted to keep his opponent talking, but he needn’t have bothered.

“That’s Deadpool,” said the mech, while taking another shot. “No space, no hyphen, and no mercy!” He got closer, then did a spin kick that would have knocked the plasma cannon from Optimus’ hand, if it hadn’t been his hand. The blow did some structural damage to the weapon, however; Optimus knew it would be a minute before his internal repairs would bring it back on-line.

But the mech had switched to hand-to-hand combat. Optimus was more than happy to respond in kind.

“As for meaning, well...” Deadpool tried to shoot Optimus in the face, but the Autobot slapped the weapon away.

And drove a fist into the mech’s chest with the force of a freight train full of whoop-ass. Deadpool flew backward, somersaulted, and regained his feet with both swords in his hands.  
Then he fell to his knees. That had fucking HURT!

“Stand down,” Optimus said, advancing with his own swords ready. “I ask again, what is the meaning of this attack?” He scanned the mech before him, and the results were confusing. It had a spark, meaning it was a live cybertronian. And yet, it was clearly under the control of the organic material (Optimus was no longer certain it was human, at least not entirely) in its head. Some kind of hybrid fusion of technologies similar to what Carter and his Initiative had done, only more advanced.

“I was about to tell ya when ya hit me,” Deadpool said, holding an arm across his crushed chest. “Not that it’s really complicated. Basically, someone’s giving me a lot of money to bag you. Or did you miss that part about me being a merc?”

“Who is paying you?” Optimus asked.

“That,” Deadpool said, “is between me and my employer.” And he leapt forward, swords thrust. Optimus hadn’t been expecting it, but he was no fool. Instinct took over; he parried both of Deadpool’s blades with one of his own, and used the mech merc’s momentum against him. Deadpool fell forward past Optimus Prime, who followed up with his other sword and slashed the merc’s legs. Deadpool howled and rolled over, and tried to stand on limbs that had nearly been severed. He flailed and swayed and did more damage to himself, until his legs gave way and he fell on his metal ass.

Optimus caught himself in a chuckle. It was no laughing matter, and yet... it really was.

“’Tis but a scratch!” Deadpool cried defiantly, slashing the air in front of him.

“You... are insane,” Optimus observed.

“Yeah, I’m messed up,” Deadpool replied. “In the head.” He crouched forward suddenly, then threw himself forward with his arms, head-first.

It was the stupidest attack Optimus Prime had ever seen in his life. So much so that he had no idea how to avoid it. Deadpool bashed the Autobot commander hard in the mid-section, sending Optimus sprawling but also crushing his own head.

“Owww!” Deadpool cried, clutching what now looked like a crumpled pop can on his shoulders. Human blood gushed from every crack. “Okay, that might’ve been dumb...”

“It most certainly was,” Optimus said as he rose from the dirt. “I say again, stand down.”

Deadpool picked up a sword and tossed it at him. Optimus easily dodged the weapon.

“That,” he said, “was just terrible.”

“That,” Deadpool countered, “wasn’t meant for you.”

Behind him, Optimus heard a gurgling mechanical noise. He turned and saw Bumblebee standing not far behind him, with the sword lodged in his voicebox.

“No!” cried Ratchet, pulling up beside them in his SUV configuration. “I just fixed that!”

Optimus turned back to Deadpool, his face making slight modifications into a visage of rage. It was a hard emotion to convey from behind his mouth guard, but he managed it.

“Okay, it looks bad,” Deadpool said, “but I swear to you it will start working again after a couple more sequels, at a time that’s really convenient to the plot.”

Optimus considered his words for a moment. Then he stepped forward, aimed his cannon and fired. He did not harm humans as a rule, but this one had already harmed himself. Crippled himself, even. Destroying him and his mech was the kindest thing, really.

And destroy him he did. Optimus’ shot hit the spark core and blew the mechanical mercenary apart.

“If he traced my signal, so could others,” Optimus turned to his troops. “We must go. Bumblebee, are you functional?”

“I get knocked down,” his radio said, “but I get up again.”

“The damage is mostly in his voicebox,” Ratchet added. “Otherwise, he’s still in good shape.”

Bumblebee stepped forward, aimed his own blaster, and destroyed what was left of the red mech. Optimus considered scolding him for wasting energon, but he couldn’t really say he blamed his junior officer.

“Hasta la vista, baby,” Bumblebee played, selecting a sound-byte from one of his favourite movies.

“What he said,” added Ratchet, and they transformed and drove back to their camp. Ten minutes later, they were back on the road, heading south.

While Sam complained about being left out of the action, and Kylie scolded him for wanting to throw himself into danger, Optimus Prime tuned them out and thought about the attack. This Deadpool had proved to be a most unusual opponent. There had been clever strategy, but there had also been some very bone-headed plays. How had he traced the signal? And what, exactly, had he been? All good questions, Optimus thought, and he regretted not having Ratchet examine the remains. There hadn’t been an awful lot left to examine, of course. And they’d needed to roll out quickly.

It didn’t matter now. Deadpool was dead. There was no coming back from that.

 

It took Deadpool a couple of hours to come back from that. Crushing his mech’s head against Optimus’ chest had not been a good idea; he was a Master of Head, and that head had been him. Hadn’t really done that much damage to the big flamer, either. Pretty wasted move.

Pretty wasted attack. And things seemed to be going so well. The missiles, the digger lure... brilliant stuff. Everything else? Not so much.

Deadpool sat upon one of his mech’s arms. It was slowly crawling its way back to the junk pile that had been the torso of the mech, where both legs were in the process of reattaching. His healing factor had put him back together, but the mech still had a way to go. Until then he was stuck there, with nothing to do except munch on his supply of chimmichungas.

After all, it wasn’t as if a spaceship was going to appear and pick him up!

Just then, a spaceship appeared in the sky above him. Its owner dropped down to the ground beside him and picked him up.

With a hook.

“Optimus Prime was here,” said an imposing gunmetal-coloured cybertronian who looked at least as tall as the Autobot leader. And probably just as strong. “You knew how to find him. But instead of sharing this information, you went off to face Optimus alone.”

“Do I know you?” Deadpool replied, wriggling like bait. The hook had speared him under the left shoulder blade, and his weight threatened to rip through the tiny layer of flesh and bone above it.

“Your employer Mr. Attinger calls me his asset,” the cybertronian said. “I think of him as a necessary inconvenience. I am Lockdown. You,” he brought Deadpool closer, “are merely an inconvenience. I tolerate Attinger. I do not have to tolerate you. So speak. How were you able to locate Optimus when I couldn’t?”

“Trade secret,” Deadpool said, trying to keep the pain from his voice. “And since it’s the only thing keeping me alive, Locksy, I think I’ll keep it to myself, thank you very...”

Lockdown slammed the point of his hook into the ground, smacking Deadpool down on his face and driving the blade further into his shoulder.

“Wrong. Answer.”

“Aarg!” Deadpool cried, and then he played dead.

“Don’t bother to play dead,” the bounty hunter told him. “I scanned your file, Wade Wilson. I know all about your healing factor.”

“Do you know about this?” Wade replied, and one of his mech arms raised itself on its elbow and shot Lockdown in the face. The robotic bounty hunter reacted on instinct, but couldn’t avoid the blast entirely, taking it in the right side of his head. He fell back, and pulled his hook out of Deadpool as he went.

But not immediately. The blade pulled him up off the ground even as it slid from his shoulder. Deadpool flew through the air and landed heavily on the end of his mech’s left leg.

“Oww...” he whined. “That’s getting off on the wrong foot...”

As he made that terrible pun, another foot slammed down on him and crushed Deadpool and the leg he’d been lying on into the dirt.

“Human waste!” Lockdown said, wiping his foot on the ground. He looked around for any sign of Optimus, but there was none. He would have used his telescope, but the damage to his head prevented the utilization of his facial enhancements. Lockdown doubted there would have been anything to see, anyway, or he’d have seen it from the air when he’d flown in.

There was, however, something interesting to look at on the ground. The mech was repairing itself, and at a far faster rate than was normal for a transformer. And it was a collection of dead transformer parts!

He looked at the crushed remains of the human, and could already see his healing factor at work. Had he somehow managed to share that ability with the mech? There was obviously a connection between them; his face was testament to that! The arm had fired upon him with a mental command. Did that connection go deeper?

Lockdown called to his drones, and gave the order to gather up the metal merc. Further study was definitely required. And, when the human revived, a much more intensive interrogation. It would be most gratifying to torture one of these flesh beings. Especially one who couldn’t die.


	2. Deadpool, Locked Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown has taken Deadpool prisoner on board his ship. He wants to know how the mouthy merc was able to locate Optimus Prime, and he's also curious about the regenerative nature of both Deadpool and his mech. Deadpool does not take kindly to this, so naturally a fight ensues. Merc vs Bounty Hunter!

Deadpool woke up locked in a cell. Not the first time that had happened to him, for sure. Not even the first alien cage on an alien ship, surrounded by aliens. Which was where he found himself now.

His headmaster armour had been removed; all he’d been left with were the tatters of his costume. Which barely covered the tatters of his body.

The aliens in the other cells stared at him like he was some sort of novelty. One creature stretched its tongue through the bars and licked him.

“Hey!” Deadpool swatted the tongue away. “Buy me a drink first, pervert.”

The creature apparently came from a planet where no meant yes. It kept right on licking.

“Well, dressed as I am, I guess I was askin’ for it,” Deadpool said. Then he grabbed the tongue in both hands and yanked hard. The jolt slammed the creature against the bars of its cage, knocking it unconscious.

“I’ll call you!” Deadpool said, then tossed the tongue out of his cell. “What’re you looking at?” he shouted at the surrounding cages. “Give a guy and his tongue-rapist some privacy.”

The aliens continued to stare. Deadpool ignored them and sat down, and put his hands to the sides of his head.

“”Now,” he said, concentrating, “how’s about I bust out of this alien peep show?”

 

Elsewhere in the ship, Deadpool’s Headmaster armour came online. It sat up and looked around, and what it saw, Deadpool saw as well.

It was on a bench in what appeared to be a laboratory. And it was not alone. Lockdown stood nearby, his back to the human-sized armour, absorbed in work on another bench. Deadpool made his helmet zoom in, because he had a good idea what the metal bounty hunter was poring over.

And he was right; Lockdown was studying the rest of his mech. Learning all my secrets, Deadpool thought, and violating my privacy! He thought about punching the robo-rooter in the face...  
...and his mech shuddered. Lockdown locked the mech down, and muttered something about the fleshbag being awake.

Oh yeah, the merc thought. He means me. Deadpool realized he’d have to watch his thoughts, lest he tip his hand too early. Well, again. 

First things first; escape. For that, he would need his weapons. And his armour. Deadpool sent a series of mental commands to his metal suit, ordering it to climb down from the bench.

Come find me, he told his armour. And bring me a gun. A big one.

 

Lockdown adjusted the binders holding the mech suit down. That human merc was awake, and had re-activated his mental link with the cybertronian body he combined with. That might become problematic, even with the restraints in place.

He summoned a security droid and ordered it to go to Deadpool’s cage and kill him.

“Then, when he recovers,” Lockdown went on, “kill him again. And again. Continue until I say otherwise.”

The drone went about its task, and Lockdown returned to work.

And it was fascinating, absorbing work. He’d watched as the mech had repaired itself before his optics, starting with the armour the fleshling had been wearing. Lockdown had carefully monitored the process, and had gigabytes of data to study.

And there were more tests to run. Lockdown decided to take a chance; he opened the mech chest and exposed the spark within, then stabbed his scythe blade down hard into it. The spark died, and the Mech with it. And a minute later, the spark reignited.

Lockdown transformed his right arm to spark extractor mode, then ripped the Mech’s heart right out. It took a little more time, but a new spark chamber grew, and ignited itself. He tried it again, this time placing the spark in a portable stasis chamber to keep it from fading.

A new spark chamber had already begun to grow, which meant only one thing...

The mech was unkillable. And, Lockdown mused, if he could learn its secrets, he would be unkillable, too.

He was also interested in how that human connected himself with the mech. He wasn’t at all interested in having a human in his own head, but if he unlocked the technology he’d have something else to sell to Attinger and Cemetery Wind. The Creators probably wouldn’t approve, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Lockdown turned to pick up the headmaster armour...

It was gone. He’d left it right there on the other bench... had one of his Steeljaw units made off with it?

No, Lockdown thought, remembering how the mech had shuddered earlier. There was a much more likely possibility.

“Steeljaw units, to the prison!” he ordered. “Possible intruder. Use maximum force.” He didn’t want them to damage the armour, but the beauty of it was, any damage they inflicted would repair itself!

Lockdown returned his attention to the mech once more. Accelerated healing... spark regeneration... immortality... all within his grasp!

Deadpool grasped the alien tongue, yanked, and konked the creature out again. It’s affections for him were becoming something of a trend. Still, he wouldn’t have to put up with it for much longer; his armour was on its way. Once it got here it would blast him free, and then he could get back MechaDeadpool and break out of this joint.

A plasma blast to the cell bar just beside his head caused him to lose his train of thought. Deadpool looked up and saw a humanoid robot approaching, arm pointed, blaster mounted on that arm. It fired again, destroying another bar and causing the merc no end of concern. He dropped to the floor of his cell to avoid another shot, while the robot continued walking toward him.

He was trapped. In a moment the robot would be right beside his cell, able to reach past the bars and shoot him to its mechanical heart’s content. As easy as shooting ducks in a barrel, unless you were Dick Cheney. It couldn’t kill him, of course, but getting shot with burning plasma would still really, really sting. And it would mess up his escape plans.

The thing didn’t seem to have the greatest aim, however. Perhaps it could be useful...

“Right here, shootytron!” Deadpool said, leaping to his feet and standing behind another bar. “Show me what you got.”

The robot fired, and shot clean through the bar and scorched Deadpool’s right ear.

“Yoww!” he cried, and crouched. “Is that all you got?”

The robot shot again, hitting the same bar lower down and burning Deadpool’s left kneecap. The rest of the bar fell away and landed on his foot.

“Ow! Oww!” he cried, hopping about and trying to clutch all his injuries at once.

The robot was at the edge of the cage. It had put a couple of bars out of commission, but hadn’t made a hole big enough for a merc and his mouth to slip through.

However, Deadpool realized he now had weapon - the metre-long metal bar that had fallen on his foot.

And yes, it was a metre long. Deadpool is Canadian, we’re using the Metric system here, get over it.

The robot reached its arm in through the bars and aimed directly between Deadpool’s legs.

“No ya don’t!” Deadpool slammed his metre-long bar down on the robot’s arm, crushing its gun. “Hah!”

The robot retracted its arm. And inserted its other arm.

“Aw, crap,” Deadpool said, and he leapt into the air before the robot could blast him. And hit his head on the top of his cage and fell back down.

The robot re-targeted between his eyes, and Deadpool thought he might actually be grateful if it blew his head off.

But that didn’t happen. At that moment his Headmaster armour arrived, and chopped the robot’s left arm off with one of its swords.

“About time, asshole!” Deadpool cried, mentally commanding his armour to kick robot ass. “What’d ya do, stop for a latte?”

The armour chopped up the robot until it was non-functional. Then it reached behind itself and unlatched the reason for its tardiness.

“Oh,” Deadpool said. “A big gun. Just like I asked for. Get me out of here and all’s forgiven.”

 

Minutes later, Deadpool was out of his cell and putting his armour on. It wasn’t built by Tony Stark, so he was forced to dress himself the old fashioned way. He’d got the lower half of the armour in place when he heard the approaching paws. Definitely paws. A lot of them.

Something was coming. And he doubted they were bringing tea and crumpets. He dressed faster.

The first Steeljaw unit rounded a corner and came charging toward the cells just as Deadpool was adjusting his helmet. The heads-up display came on and he saw the approaching beast, and knew he had no time to do anything about it. The feline creature was twice his size and packing a set of steel, well... jaws. After all he’d gone through to get out of his cage, he was going to be torn apart just as he was finally ready to fight back!

The Steeljaw started to pounce...

...and a viscous fluid splattered it in the face. The surprise threw off its aim, and it leapt clear of Deadpool and smashed into the bars of his cell. Deadpool reacted on instinct, drawing his swords and lopping the creature’s head off as it collapsed back to the floor.

One down, he thought, looking in the direction it had come. Two more Steeljaws had rounded the corner, and more followed.

Deadpool spared a moment to look in the direction the viscous blob had come from. He saw an alien in a small cage that looked like a mutated starfish on steroids. As he watched, it spat a similar loogie at one of the approaching Steeljaws and nailed it in the face like the first one.

It tripped over its own feet, and the one behind it collided with its ass and went down, too.

“Nice shootin’, Starro!” Deadpool said as he hefted the cannon his suit had brought him. “Now let me take ya to school.”

Deadpool opened fire, blasting apart the tangled mess of limbs the oncoming Steeljaws had become. The next few lost their footing in the mess of inner fluids and robotic entrails, making them easy targets.

More came, accompanied by security drones. Deadpool advanced, mowing them down. The gun was a tad awkward to wield - it had been made for much bigger hands than his - but his armour made it compatible.

The surviving Steeljaws retreated while the drones provided cover fire. Deadpool knew this would be a short respite; they’d be back, with a lot more firepower. He needed to haul ass and get his mech back. But first...

“You’re almost too weird to live,” Deadpool said to the starfish-like thing. “I like that in an alien.” A couple of sword-slashes later, and there was a hole in the bars wide enough for the thing to climb through. “Go! Live happily.”

Debt repaid, Deadpool ran off through the alien zoo. His armour knew where his mech was; finding it wouldn’t be a problem. Getting there without getting killed repeatedly... now, there was a challenge.

 

Lockdown had assumed that keeping the regenerating human under control would be a challenge, but this Deadpool was officially a nuisance. He watched on his security monitors as the merc in question left the brig and made his way forward, shooting at everything that moved and hitting most of it. Where had he found that blaster? Lockdown recognized it as the one previously held by the now-very-dead Ginrai. And was that... No! The ambassador from Gal’Gannat 7 was out of his cage and crawling along behind Deadpool. Why in Quintessa’s name had the merc freed her? The Creators paid well, sure, but that one creature would buy him the galaxy of his choice to retire in!

Lockdown gave his security forces the order not to fire on Deadpool. He couldn’t risk the Gal’Gannat Ambassador getting hit by a stray blast. Similarly, he gave a do-not-harm order for the creature, and the imperative to capture it alive. In all likelihood, he would have to intervene personally to ensure success.

He glanced back at his long range sensors and satellite feeds. Something interesting was taking place a short distance away involving Cemetery Wind and the Legendary Knight he’d sold them. Might be worth looking into, especially after the recent events at Xel-Ha.

First things first. Deal with Deadpool before the merc upgraded himself from nuisance to full-blown irritation. And since his security forces didn’t seem capable of handling the merc, he would have to get directly involved.

Lockdown grinned. It wasn’t something his mouth servos did very often, but this moment seemed to warrant it.

He had the advantage. He knew where Deadpool was heading...

 

The Ambassador of Gal’Gannat 7 followed the red-armoured biped, hoping he’d made the right choice. She’d assumed the biped wanted the same thing he did - escape from this ship - but it seemed to be leading her further in. Was the hangar this way? Possibly stocked with a luxury of escape pods with easy-to-use controls? He certainly hoped so. After all, she was so stressed that he’d swapped gender nearly a hundred times since leaving her cell.

He paused to work up a fresh glob of spit. On her world, it was the ultimate expression of friendliness and peace. What could be a better show of trust than to volunteer freely a sample of one’s own DNA? It did seem, however, as if the rest of the universe was ignorant of this. Indeed, the crisis he’d been on his way to mediate had resulted from the Prezultan of the Gal’Gannat system making peace offerings into the faces of several leaders at the last galactic summit. If she didn’t get back in time to represent his people and their pure motives, all-out war might result.

That bounty hunter knew this, and knew her people would pay handsomely to get him back. Of course, the leaders of the offended systems might pay even more to keep her away.

All this trouble over an obvious gesture of friendship! Of course, he couldn’t deny she’d used his spit for more aggressive purposes recently, like using it to distract those Steeljaws. Still, she hoped that one day he’d spit on someone for whom the message would be clear. It did hound at her thoughts.

For the time being, however, he would stay close to the red-armoured creature. It clearly knew how to defend itself; following it seemed like the safest course of action she could take.

 

Deadpool took a look over his shoulder and saw that the spitty starfish thingie was still following him. Bad move, he thought. Definitely the least-safe action it could take. He remained grateful for its help, but he had no problem using it as a meat shield if the situation called for it.

He turned a corner and saw no security drones, Steeljaws, or anything remotely threatening. Instead, he saw a clear path down the corridor to the lab, where his mech waited.

Easy-peezy. Which meant something was wrong. Or maybe he’d destroyed Lockdown’s entire security force? Maybe, but not likely. This whole thing smelled like a trappity-trap. With a side order of trap.

Deadpool scanned the walls. Then he fired, seemingly at random, at two spots near the ceiling.

“What’sthe best thing to do with a trap?” Deadpool said to the alien thingie (because there wasn’t anyone else to talk to). “Spring it.”

 

Lockdown didn’t like it. The human merc had destroyed two of his security cameras, leaving him blind to the hall outside. Still, Deadpool had almost made it to the lab, and there was only one way in.

Lockdown was ready for him. His sniper rifle was trained on the doorway with a motion sensor monitoring every molecule of the floor. It was programmed for a headshot; the second Deadpool entered the room, he’d be taken out with minimal damage to the suit or surrounding area. By the time his head grew back, he’d be locked away once more.

Lockdown stood by the doorway, waiting. If the merc got lucky and avoided the shot, he could reach down and crush his head. Deadpool wouldn’t see him; his eyes would be on the prize. The mech remained on its bench in full view (and of course, fully restrained).

Lockdown heard the faint tapping of approaching metal feet. It would not be long now. He connected his left optic to the targeting system in his rifle, so he could watch the doorway through its scope. He could have let the system take the shot, but it was so much more satisfying when he took control.

The footsteps were louder. This amateur knew nothing about stealth! Lockdown watched as the merc rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway. Oh, this was too easy. Lockdown took aim at Deadpool’s armour and fired, and punched a hole clean through the helmet.

The armour wobbled but managed to remain upright. Then it raised both arms and extended the middle fingers on each gauntlet.

If Lockdown’s optics could have blinked, he’d have done so in surprise. The armour shouldn’t be able to do that! Not with Deadpool’s brain matter splattered all over the...

...but it wasn’t. There was no organic gristle at all! Which meant...

...Deadpool was not inside the armour.

Just as Lockdown was having this thought, something organic and wet splopped onto his head. He roared in surprise and anger - he’d been had! But if Deadpool thought he could best him in a physical confrontation just because he’d attacked his head...

Lockdown grabbed the merc and flung him to the floor. Only it wasn’t the merc - it was the Gal’Gannat 7 Ambassador! Deadpool had played him again! Lockdown swung around, scanning for the merc, and it was because of that sudden movement that he did not take the plasma blast in the head. Instead it hit him behind his left shoulder, spinning him back around to face the bench with the mech. Deadpool hovered above it, dangling from a cable that went up into an air shaft in the ceiling, holding Ginrai’s gun in both hands.

Outsmarted! By a human! The realization hurt almost as much as the shot he’d taken. But not, he suspected, as much as the shot he was about to take.

“Things didn’t exactly work out the way you planned, did they?” Deadpool said, keeping the gun trained on Lockdown. “How’s about I take you apart, see how you like it!” He fired again, and blasted Lockdown’s right arm. “Ooh, that must’ve hurt. This is costing you an arm and a leg.” And he shot one of his legs.

He’s going to talk me to death, Lockdown thought. And he saw a way to get the advantage back.

“Wait,” he said. “You need me.” He hated the pleading tone in his voice, but if he could keep Deadpool distracted long enough to re-target his rifle...

“I need you?” Deadpool said. “What for? Other than target practice?”

“Do you know how to pilot this ship?”

“No,” Deadpool replied. “But I’m pretty sure I can crash it.”

“You’ll kill us both!”

“Yeah, but I’ll get better.”

Lockdown knew he had a point. He also knew that his rifle was targeted and ready. It fired, the blast aimed at the small of Deadpool’s back. At that moment, the merc lowered himself another half-metre. The shot missed his back, but it did slice right through the wire suspending him. Deadpool cried out in surprise as he fell the remaining distance onto his mech, and the impact knocked the wind from him. It also caused him to lose his grip on the oversized weapon; the gun fell off the bench and clattered across the floor.

The Gal’Gannat Ambassador picked it up.

“No!” Lockdown tried to reach for the weapon, but his arms were currently out of action. He pushed himself across the floor with his good leg, growing ever more concerned as the creature examined the gun’s barrel.

Upon the bench, Deadpool recovered his senses and sat up. He was on top of his mech’s chest; apart from its lack of a head, it seemed in good condition. Which was hardly surprising. Time to make it whole again and escape with his new squishy buddy.

First, he summoned his armour. It started running toward the bench, its helmet already half-repaired. Next, Deadpool instructed his mech to break the bonds holding it to the table. It struggled, but the bonds were too strong. Nothing that couldn’t be solved by a grenade or two, he thought.

Lockdown continued his slow progress across the floor. The ambassador had its face pressed to the blaster’s muzzle now, with two tentacles wrapped lovingly around the handle. What, Lockdown wondered, is it doing? Committing suicide?

In point of fact, the ambassador had seen the weapon and thought it looked identical to a Gal’Gannat sex toy. It had been years since the last time he’d gotten any, and she found himself overcome with lust. Hardly the right time or place, she thought in a distant corner of his mind, but some urges simply couldn’t wait. Now, if she could only find the switch that would release the pheromones from the tube of infinite delights...

On the bench, two explosions sounded. Deadpool admired his handiwork; he had successfully freed his mech’s legs from the manacles holding them. Of course, he’d also freed the feet from those same legs. A different approach was in order if he wanted to release the arms but still keep the hands.

He looked at the other weapons on his person; handguns, with sabot-round bullets. Worth a try.

Behind him, his headmaster armour climbed up onto the bench. It had his swords (probably useless against the binders), but more importantly it had in-built weapons! And strength enhancers, too.

“Time to get dressed!” Deadpool said, and started dismantling the armour.

On the floor, Lockdown reached the gun (and the horny Gal’Gannat 7 Ambassador). His left shoulder was still a mess, but he was able to ‘walk’ his hand and forearm forward. He grabbed the weapon and tried to dislodge the ambassador, but the creature wasn’t having it. And it had an appendage on the trigger. Lockdown instead clicked the safety on. Satisfied the ambassador was out of immediate danger, he called all his security drones to the lab and tried to sit himself up.

And he summoned his medabots. He needed to get repaired in a hurry.

 

Deadpool hurried into his metal pants and attached them to the armour’s torso. Arms next; he slipped each limb in and then slapped the shoulders into place. He was definitely getting faster at it; the hundreds of times he’d had to flee girls’ boarding school dorms in his youth had been good practice.

He reattached his helmet, which had healed completely from the shot it had taken earlier. He activated the H.U.D., and saw he’d had a call from Howard Attinger.

“The blues have called!” he said, aiming and firing his arm cannons on the binder securing the mech’s left arm. “But I’ll eat those tossed salads and scrambled eggs later. Time to kick some ass!” He turned and blasted the right arm free, then ordered his mech to sit up. As it did so, he leapt up and transformed into his mech’s head.

Then he screamed in agony, as he did every time he reconfigured. It hurt having his legs bent the wrong way and his arms jammed into his ribcage, especially when the bones snapped. Weasel really needed to redesign the armour.

No time to worry about that now. Deadpool swung himself off the table, forgot about his mech’s current lack of feet, and collapsed to the floor.

Lockdown’s security drones arrived, followed by two medabots who immediately set to work on their master’s repair. One security drone worked at removing the Gal’Gannat 7 Ambassador from the gun. The others went for Deadpool, who had just managed to get his mech up on its knees.

“Oh, hello,” MechaDeadpool said. “Haven’t I kicked enough of your guys’ asses?”

The drones responded with a volley of blasterfire. MechaDeadpool threw himself sideways while drawing one of his swords and swinging it around in an arc. When he got back up, all of the drones were down. And cut in half.

Across the lab, Lockdown frowned. That was the last of his security drones. He still had Steeljaws on standby, but he couldn’t risk them accidentally eating the ambassador.

He looked sideways. His one remaining drone had managed to remove the ambassador from the business end of the blaster, but was now the recipient of his mating advances.

However, the gun was within reach...

Lockdown swatted aside one of his medibots and threw himself at the weapon. He might have reached it, were it not for the sword that had pinned his right arm to the floor.

“Not so fast!” MechaDeadpool said, shuffling over on his knees and snatching the gun up. “Oh, this is sooo going to cost ya.” He pointed the weapon at Lockdown’s midsection and fired.

Only he didn’t fire. Because the safety was on, remember?

“Not as much as it will cost you, cretin!” Lockdown said. Then he slid his scythe blade out of his left arm and lunged.

“Ow!” Deadpool cried, looking at the stump of his right arm while the hand (and gun) fell to the floor. His left hand went for his other sword, but Lockdown kicked him with both feet before the metal merc could wield it. MechaDeadpool flew backwards into the far wall, and lost his grip on his sword.

So he filled that hand with something else - one of his own guns. At the same time, Lockdown yanked the other sword out of his arm and stood. It was painful - his medabots hadn’t finished his repair - but he was mobile once more.

“Will you fight honourably?” he asked Deadpool, wielding the sword from his arm.

“No,” MechaDeadpool replied, and fired.

Lockdown, who had expected that very response, dodged the sabot rounds while activating his shoulder-mounted missiles. He set off a barrage, and MechaDeadpool leapt over a lab bench to avoid them.

At the same time, Lockdown received a call from Attinger. He ignored it. Whatever problem that human was having now could wait until he’d subdued his adversary.

Deadpool also had a call from his boss. He answered it. He was fighting for his life, yes, but there was no reason he couldn’t multitask.

“Cheers, Fraiser!” he said. “Is your periscope down?”

“Never mind the wisecracks, where are you?” Attinger bellowed over the comm. “Did you locate Optimus Prime?”

“You bet I did,” Deadpool replied, leaping his mech up and over the workbench to take a shot at Lockdown. “And I can tell you where he was a few hours ago. Hey, Locksy! How long have I been here?” He ducked back down as a missile flew over his head and destroyed some important-looking stuff one bench over.

“I don’t care where he was, I need to know where he is now!” Attinger said. “And who’s Locksey? What are you doing?”

“Oh, just shooting at this one guy,” MechaDeadpool leapt out from cover, rolled, fired, and rolled some more until he was behind another bench.

“Is it Prime?” Attinger wanted to know.

“Nope. But I think you know him.” Something exploded on the bench above him, and a foul-smelling liquid dribbled down. “Big guy, gruff features, likes scythes, has a round ship, kinda talks like that guy from the 90s Robin Hood movie...”

“My lord, you’re on Lockdown’s ship!” Attinger snapped. “Are you two fighting each other? Stop that at once, and tell Lockdown to join the call.”

“Lock-ring? Lock-a-Doodle-Doo?” MechaDeadpool shouted. “You’ve got a Mr. Attinger on line one.”

 

Back at Cemetery Wind’s command centre, Howard Attinger’s eyebrows raised in surprise. That had to be the first time Deadpool had used his actual name.

“Mister Attinger.”

The voice out of the comm was full of contempt, as if even acknowledging his existence was an undeserved boon. And, it did sound a little like that guy from the Robin Hood movie.

“Just what the hell is going on there?” Attinger said. It was always a risk, snapping at Lockdown. The Cybertronian certainly benefitted from his help, but the truth was he could probably hunt down Optimus Prime on his own. Attinger needed him a lot more than Lockdown needed Cemetery Wind.

At the same time, Attinger did not want to appear weak. It was a delicate balance, and he had never cared for the role of diplomat.

Deadpool, on the other hand, was fair game.

“Your... freelancer,” Lockdown said, “interfered with my hunt.”

“Your ass-hatron,” Deadpool retorted, “interfered with me. I did not need to wake up on this ship with an anal probe up my butt while Prime-Time TV got away.”

“Optimus had escaped long before I found you,” Lockdown pointed out. “And I did not probe your...”

“Enough!” Attinger snapped. “I do not need two of my biggest assets bickering like children while the target escapes. Wilson,” he delighted in using Deadpool’s real name, “you should have called us in the moment you found Prime.”

“At least I did find Prime,” Deadpool replied. “And I can do it again.”

“How?” Lockdown and Attinger said together.

“Trade secret.”

“One you will share,” Lockdown said, gently scraping his scythe on MechaDeadpool’s chest.

“I think I’ve shared enough of my secrets with you today,” MechaDeadpool replied, rubbing his mech ass.

“If you have means to track Optimus,” Attinger said, “you will do so. And you will lead Lockdown, and us, to him.”

“I work alone...”

“As do I...”

“Not any more,” Attinger said, raising his voice just the right amount. “Work together. Bring Prime in. And try not to cause another incident.”

At that, he broke contact. Leave them with their marching orders, while he got the last word. That’s who you’re dealing with, boys.

Time to deal with other matters. The Slog unit had ceased functioning, and some kind of robot activity had been reported at Chichen Itza.

And then, there was that little bit of business in Nevada...

 

MechaDeadpool looked at Lockdown. Lockdown scowled at MechaDeadpool. And on the lab floor, the Gal’Gannat 7 Ambassador continued humping the security bot.

“Let’s go find big red,” Deadpool said, and wrapped his remaining arm around Lockdown’s shoulders. “Partner!”

The gunmetal mechanoid extended a blade, spun around, and hacked MechaDeadpool’s arm off.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me how you located Prime,” he said, and kicked the severed limb into MechaDeadpool’s chest.

“Sure,” Deadpool replied. “I could give you a hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who was the Gal’Gannat 7 Ambassador? Remember that weird creature on Lockdown's ship that spits in Hound's face? I decided that creature needed a backstory. Because why not? Also, the planet that he/she's the ambassador for is the same planet where Kup was once a slave miner, according to Transformers: The Movie.


	3. Slogged Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Optimus Prime heads for Chichen Itza, Bumblebee and Ratchet (with Sam and Kylie, respectively) head out on their own side-quests. At the same time, Lockdown and MechaDeadpool stalk Prime. Trouble comes in the form of Decepticon fliers, throwing explosive wrenches into everyone's plans. Cemetery Wind sends in some troops who quickly become cannon fodder.

“Y’know, Bee, it’s not like I asked to be a Prime.”

Bumblebee, Autobot warrior and Camaro enthusiast, groaned inwardly. He cared deeply for his human friend (and current passenger) Sam Witwicky, he really did. Sometimes, however, he fantasized about trading vocal circuits with him. With an energon axe.

Keeping his optics on the Mexican highway, Bumblebee settled in for another Sam Rant. Optimus Prime, currently a couple of car lengths ahead of him, had requested that he and Ratchet take over the transport of the humans. He’d reasoned that, since he was a target, Sam and Karly would be safer not riding in him. Bumblebee also suspected it was so he would not have to hear Sam’s latest diatribe about the pains of his life. He further suspected not listening to her husband was the reason Karly had chosen to ride in Ratchet.

“I get it, it’s an honour,” Sam went on. “And I’m all honoured and stuff, but did the original 13 Primes even consider the day-to-day realities of being a human?  
“I mean, it’s all well and good for one of you Autobots to be named a Prime. You don’t have anything else to do. I have a job, Bee. I have responsibilities.”

Bumblebee considered pointing out they were on a mission to save the very species that had abruptly betrayed them, on the whim of a young man who claimed he’d had a vision. Sometimes, he might have said, you just have to do what’s right.

He didn’t say these things for two very good reasons, the first being that he couldn’t. The second reason was that he knew his friend; all this complaining was just noise, a way for Sam to work out his feelings and try to express them. Sam vented when he had time to do so (and admittedly he would make that time as frequently as possible). When there wasn’t time to do anything but act, however, Sam did the right thing like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

When Bumblebee wanted to reassure his friend, he usually defaulted to the words of his leader.

“Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing,” he ‘said’, replaying Optimus’ words. He always recorded Prime’s speeches; so many of them were pure gold.

“Yeah, well, fate chose to call on me in the middle of a meeting,” Sam replied. “Not the sort of place where it’s good for your career to have a complete meltdown. At least it made it easy to get short-term sick leave...”

Okay, Bee thought. Maybe he needs to hear from someone else.

“No sacrifice, no victory.”

Sam glared down at Bumblebee’s radio. Then he settled back in his seat and offered a resigned chuckle.

“That was a cheap shot,” he said, but there was genuine warmth in his voice. “I’m scared,” he went on. “There’s just something about this one. I...” he paused. Bumblebee waited patiently. “It feels like... like we’re not coming out of this one. I wish Karly hadn’t come. That way I’d know for sure she’s safe.”

“I can protect you!” Bee ‘said’, sampling a James Bond movie. “You hear me? I can protect you!”

“I know,” Sam said. “It’s just... yeah. You know.”

“Readin’ you 5 by 5.”

“Thanks for listening, Bee.”

“No problemo.”

Inwardly, Bumblebee was worried. It took a lot for Sam to admit to fear. Whatever he’d seen... had the ancient Primes any right to lay that burden upon his friend? They must have had their reasons, he supposed. And if any human was up to the challenge, Sam was. He just hoped that he himself would be up to the challenge of protecting Sam from what was coming.

“Bumblebee, Sam? Ratchet, Karly? This is Prime,” came the voice of his commander. “We’ve made contact with Jolt and Dino. They have made a couple of discoveries. Sending co-ordinates now.”  
Along with those co-ordinates came images from both Autobots’ optics. The first, from Dino, showed a gargantuan robot, definitely of cybertronian origin, standing in the middle of Mexican nowhere. The second, from Jolt, showed the ruin of a tourist destination, with an even larger cybertronian lying face-down in a bay.

“Both discoveries are on the way,” Prime went on, “and may shed some light on what we are up against. Ratchet, I’m sending you and Karly to Dino’s location to assess the giant robot situation, and determine if it is in need of some medical attention. Bumblebee and Sam, I want you two to investigate Jolt’s co-ordinates, a place called Xel-Ha, and determine what happened there.  
“I will proceed to the main target. Rendez-vous with me as soon as you have completed your objectives. Prime out.”

“We’re on it, Optimus,” Sam said. They drove together for another couple of miles, then Bumblebee and Ratchet took their exits and started their missions.

“You sure it’s a good idea, letting Prime go on alone?” Sam asked, watching the red cab until he was out of sight.

“It’s his way,” Bumblebee sampled. “He has to choose his own path. No one can choose it for him.”

“Come on, Bee,” Sam said. “He wants us out of the way in case he gets attacked again.”

Bumblebee considered, then said, “You are so right!”

“Well, let’s turn around and go after him!”

“I got orders,” Bee replied.

“Orders? You’re not gonna...”

“What you have is an order, GI Joe!”

“Okay, okay, peace!” Sam said, and leaned back in his seat. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. I mean, he’s Optimus Prime!”

 

“Optimus Prime,” Lockdown said, staring at his main viewer. On screen, the Autobot leader drove along the nearly-empty highway.

“I’m still waiting for my ‘thank you’,” said MechaDeadpool, peering over the bounty hunter’s shoulder.

It was a fair expectation; Deadpool had used the Autobot’s own decryption codes to hack their comm system, allowing him and Lockdown to track Prime in minutes. Deadpool had told Lockdown he’d cracked the codes himself, which was much more impressive-sounding than the truth. The codes had come with the assorted body parts that made up his mech, and linked him to the Autobot prisoners back at Weasel’s compound.

“And he’s alone,” Lockdown went on, ignoring his ‘partner’. “I shall engage him and bring him in.”

“Easier said than done,” Deadpool said. “How’s that been working out for you so far?”

“I have not yet engaged Optimus Prime in combat,” Lockdown said. “I look forward to the experience.”

“Uh huh, well I actually did engage him in combat,” Deadpool pointed out. “Got the drop on him twice. And he still wiped his ass with me.”

“You are an untrained idiot with a barely-tested mech,” Lockdown rounded on him. “Whereas I...”

“...got your ass kicked by this untrained idiot,” Deadpool finished for him.

“I would have beaten you if Attinger hadn’t interrupted!”

“Yeah, you got stopped by a phone call.”

“You impudent cretin!” Lockdown took a swing at MechaDeadpool, who stepped lightly out of the way. Then, when Lockdown was off-balance, MechaDeadpool kicked the bounty hunter... in the ass.

“I’m just saying,” Deadpool went on, “maybe you don’t wanna go picking fights you can’t win.  
“May I make a suggestion?”

Lockdown stood back up. Every microchip of his CNA wanted to tear Deadpool apart, but he forced himself to calm down and regain his professionalism. The mech-enhanced merc had goaded him, easily.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“Make Primer coating come to you,” Deadpool said. “And what’s the perfect bait to trap an Autobot leader? Autobots! And thanks to my hacking their comms, we know where four of ‘em are gonna be.”

Lockdown considered. It was a good plan; the two of them could easily subdue Ratchet and Dino, and get the Slog unit back at the same time. Or they could go to the site where Octopunch had risen (had Deadpool really bested that titan?) and capture Bumblebee and Jolt. Prime would sacrifice his life for any of his Autobots, but he seemed to have particular affection for that yellow one.

And yet, Optimus was alone. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.

“We go for Optimus,” Lockdown said. “The others we can leave to Cemetery Wind.”

“Okay, but when we get our asses kicked,” Deadpool said, “I’m saying I told you so.”

 

With the ship on automatic, Lockdown and MechaDeadpool boarded the shuttle and flew off in pursuit of Prime. In the distance, the giant Legendary Warrior Slog loomed over the horizon. That’s where Ratchet is going, Deadpool thought.

“Still think we should’ve gone after the others,” he grumbled.

“When I want your opinion,” Lockdown said through gritted servos, “I’ll tell you what to... hnngaa!”

Deadpool would have asked about the pros and cons of hngaaing, but his mech was too busy falling sideways. That was because the shuttle had turned sideways. Lockdown barely managed to stay seated while keeping a grip on the controls.

Something screamed past the shuttle. Lockdown wrenched the controls in the opposite direction, flipping the craft onto its other side and sending MechaDeadpool flying into another wall.  
“What the living fuck’re you doing?” Deadpool shouted above the sound of something else screaming past.

Lockdown was too busy to answer, but he didn’t need to. In the next moment, Deadpool learned two things: one, Lockdown had been taking evasive action; and two, it wasn’t nearly evasive enough. Something hit the shuttle’s hull with a loud and ominous bang. Control panels burst with fire and fzzz, and a hole ripped open in the floor.

“We’re hit!” Deadpool cried. The fact of the matter was overwhelmingly obvious and did not need to be said. He said it anyway, because he knew it would annoy Lockdown.

“I am well aware of that fact, cretin,” the bounty hunter replied. Deadpool decided to double-down and added:  
“We’re under attack!”

“Shut UP!” Lockdown roared, instead of avoiding the incoming hail of gunfire. “Aah!” he added, when that gunfire ripped through the ship. Lockdown fought for control, while MechaDeadpool fought to get back to his seat.

There were at least five aerial assailants, all smaller and much more maneuverable.

“There’s too many of them!”

I will kill him, Lockdown thought as he narrowly escaped a missile. Then he saw a flier he recognized, on a collision course. Any other cybertronian would be making a suicide run with such an attack.

But Ramjet wasn’t any other cybertronian.

“He’s comin’ right for us!” said Deadpool, clinging to the back of his seat and yet still managing to point.

Ramjet slammed into the shuttle nose-first, and should have exploded into flames and twisted metal. Instead, it was the shuttle that took the damage. He was not called Ramjet for nothing.  
“We’re outta control!” Deadpool shrieked, losing his grip and flying around the cabin.

The shuttle spun away from the impact, critically wounded. Lockdown fought the controls and lost, and knew the ship could not be saved. The best they could hope for was to survive with only moderate damage, because...

“We’re goin’ down!” Deadpool cried as he fell into the hole in the floor and disappeared.

Thank Primus for small mercies, Lockdown thought, but he had no time to enjoy it. If he could just keep the nose up, reduce the steep angle of their descent, and find somewhere to put down while he still had something of a choice, he may yet walk away from this.

The nose came up...

And Lockdown realized the Slog unit was directly in his flight path. And, if he couldn’t turn in time...

“We’re gonna crash!” Deadpool poked his mech’s head up through the hole in the floor. Then, his work done, he dropped out of sight again.

Lockdown roared in frustration, anger, and even a little fear.

Then the crippled shuttle smashed into Slog’s chest and exploded.

 

Ratchet had almost arrived at the derelict Legendary Warrior when he saw the shuttlecraft slam into it. Dino, who’d been waiting for him nearby, was sent flying by the blast. Before Ratchet could react or even transform, something landed on top of him hard enough to dent his roof.

“Hey!” Karly shouted, instinctively ducking lower in her seat. “What was that?”

“I intended to find out,” Ratchet replied, and popped open his passenger door. “Please step out.”

Karly did so, and Ratchet transformed. It looked like he wouldn’t need to examine the Legendary Warrior any more - no way it survived that crash. Dino might require medical treatment; he’d have to find him quick. Ratchet wanted to know where that ship had come from and why it had crashed, but those questions could wait.

As could the poor red individual who’d landed on him. It had been a cybertronian, probably from the shuttle, but whoever it was wasn’t going anywhere. Not with one of its legs buried in its chest. Energon leaked from the wounds - the knee was visible, having burst out the back - and it was clear to Ratchet the spark core had been destroyed.

There was something familiar about it, though...

“Oh god,” Karly said, looking at the wrecked bot. “Friend of yours?”

“Don’t think so,” Ratchet replied, sniffing the air. “Dino’s that way. Let’s...”

Suddenly there was gunfire from all around them. Ratchet shielded Karly with his body and clenched his oral servos as several sabot rounds ripped into him.

...sabot rounds? That would mean...

“Humans, hold your fire!” Ratchet cried.

“Give us your hostage!” said one of the many soldiers emerging from the foliage.

“I’m not a hostage!” Karly shouted from under the Autobot’s protective arms. “Stop this!”

“If you’re not a hostage,” that same soldier declared, “then you must be with the alien! Fire at will!”

Before they could, however, someone else fired at will. At them. Plasma blasts rained down from the sky and tore through the human soldiers and ate into Ratchet’s armour. Karly screamed and hugged the ground. Ratchet collapsed beside her, full of holes. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of their airborne attacker.

“T... Triggerhappy?” he said. What, he wondered, was that Decepticon doing on Earth? And did his presence mean that Slugslinger and Misfire were here, too?

Questions for later. Right now he had more pressing concerns. Like the fact that he was about to go into stasis lock.

“K... Karly...” he said. “R... run... find Dino...”

Then everything went black and he collapsed to the ground.

 

Dino came back online to the sensation of being under attack. He remembered an explosion, and now something was beating upon his faceplate. He sat up, drawing his swords and adjusting his optics...

“Oh, I am so sorry, seniorita,” he said, sheathing his swords and helping Karly back up. Apparently she’d been standing on his chest, pounding on him in an effort to wake him up.  
Looking around, it was not hard to see why. The area was a war zone, with enemy fire raining down from Cybertronian fighters who were not bothering with terran alt modes. One in particular dropped down and came for him, multiple guns blazing.

“Get us out of here!” Karly shouted.

“Un momento, seniorita Karly,” Dino said, and stood himself in front of her. He would not allow a Decepticon to harm Sam Witwicky’s wife, not while there was still energon in his circuits! He would die first.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. The oncoming Decepticon’s weapons ran dry well before he and the human were in range. Dino smiled, recognizing the Decepticon as Triggerhappy, once again emptying his weapons without thinking. 

Dino launched himself into the air and swung both swords. Triggerhappy tried to pull up but was too late. Dino dropped back to the ground, and the Decepticon’s main guns fell on either side of him. Not a lethal blow, but to that particular ‘con it was the ultimate insult.

“Stop showing off!” Karly cried. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

Dino was slightly hurt by the human’s remark, as he’d thought that move of his had been pretty sweet. Nevertheless, she was right in thinking they’d delayed long enough. Dino scooped her up and ran toward the nearest road, transforming as he went.

“That was a trap,” Karly said when they were far enough away. “We need to get to Sam. He might be heading into a trap as well.”

Dino thought of pointing out that, if it was an ambush, Bumblebee and Jolt were also in danger. He decided against it - humans were, after all, quite single-minded and selfish. Making her aware of that fact would only result in an uncomfortable drive. He sped down the highway in the direction of Xel-Ha, hoping to arrive in time to make a difference.

 

Deadpool woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t. He was in pain, probably from all the holes all in his mech body.

This crossover had really outstayed its welcome!

Ratchet lay beside him, face-down in the dirt, also shot to shit. Several human bodies were strewn about; Deadpool recognized their uniforms as those worn by Cemetery Wind troops. Bad luck boys, he thought.

A couple of cybertronian choppers descended from the sky right above him. Without preamble they dropped grappling hooks on chains, snagging both himself and Ratchet and hauling them into the air. It hurt - both the hooks in him had targeted a wound - but he wasn’t about to struggle free. He was in no condition to fight, for one thing; the downside to a healing factor was it only kicked in when you had something to heal, and right now he had plenty. 

Besides, he asked himself, what difference would it make if he killed the chopper guy carrying him, fell to the ground, healed from that, and went after Optimus Prime again, or; if he let this guy carry him wherever it was going?

Because wherever it was these guys were taking him and Nurse Ratchet, that was exactly the place where Optimus Prime would go. His ‘bots were in trouble, and the big red O was a sucker for that sort of thing. As soon as he found out, he’d follow these chopper guys to the ends of the universe. Might as well dangle back and enjoy the ride.

Of course, with Ratchet ‘n Clank still offline, who was going to tell Optical Illusion Prime what had happened here? Dino Flintstone, maybe? Deadpool adjusted his mech’s optics and saw the red Ferrari zooming off down the highway in the other direction. Probably planning to rendez-vous with Plight of the Bumblebee and Jolt Cola. Even if he did report in, he wouldn’t know where his buddy Ratchet was being taken.

Well, if ya want something done right, Deadpool thought, better do it yourself. So he did, opening a channel to Optimus Prime.

 

The Autobot leader closed in on Chichen Itza, keeping his optics open. Not long ago he’d seen a squadron of cybertronian jets in the distance, their choice of direction suggesting the historic site had been their point of origin. Something was brewing there; that much was certain. He needed to get there fast to determine what that something was.

Optimus knew he needed to stay focused on the world around him. Any distraction might prove costly.

Naturally, the moment he had that thought, Deadpool called.

“Yo, Santa Claus!” the mech merc said. “It’s the other big red bot, comin’ at ya!”

For a moment Optimus thought, Blaster? But only for a moment.

“Dead Pool?” he said.

“In the flesh!” he replied. “And metal. I’m still doing both. But you already knew...”

“You were dead,” Optimus said. “Bumblebee and I made sure of it.”

“And yet, here I am,” Deadpool said. “Like a porn star jerking into the wind, I always come back.”

“What do you want?” the Autobot leader commanded.

“Your buddy the ambulance might’ve outrun his last cheap lawyer.”

“I do not understand your words.”

“I’m saying Ratchet’s here with me,” Deadpool said, “but he’s gonna be dead if you don’t...”

“Are you threatening my medical officer?” Optimus snapped.

“Not me!” Deadpool replied with full sincerity. “He and I both got shot up and grabbed by an entirely different bunch of bad guys. If you want your doc back, you’d best follow this signal to wherever they take us.”

“Where you will be waiting."

“Yep! And I’m counting on our captors softening you up some before I take you out. You’d have to be crazy or dumb to try and save your pal here, given what I just told you. But you’ll come anyway.”

“You are very sure of yourself, Dead Pool.”

“Darn tootin’! And you want to know why? Because you, sir, are Optimus Prime.”

Deadpool’s voice disappeared, but the signal continued to transmit. So that I can track it, Optimus knew, right into his trap. The merc could be lying about having been captured, but Prime’s instincts told him no. And, by providing the means to track him, Dead Pool was actually giving him a fighting chance. Overconfidence? Stupidity? Optimus wondered if even the merc knew for sure.

As for his seeming resurrection... Optimus found it unlikely the human could have come back from what he and Bumblebee had done to him. Then again, he and Megatron had both died and come back. Even Sam had managed it! Dead Pool’s return to life was improbable but not beyond the realm of possibility.

And there was another good reason for following the signal into Dead Pool’s trap. From what he could make out, they both seemed to be heading in the same direction anyway.

 

As Deadpool cut contact, he took a last look down at the flaming wreckage of the shuttle, the really big cybertronian, and Lockdown. Lock-a-doodle-doo was tough, but there was no way he’d survived that crash. Attinger would be pissed, for sure. As far as Deadpool was concerned, however, it was one less asshole to deal with.

 

In the flaming wreckage, something stirred. A hand reached forward from a pile of metal debris, dug itself into the dirt, and pulled a charred and blackened form forward. It repeated the procedure, reaching and anchoring and pulling, until it was far enough away from the fire to be out of danger.

By that point, two stubs attached to its rear had grown into half-legs. A second arm began to sprout from the left side, and the features on the head became more defined. Eyes formed, then a mouth. And a smirk.

“It worked,” Lockdown said. “It actually worked!” The euphoria he felt was hard to quantify. It certainly wasn’t something he felt on a regular basis. The crash should have killed him. Perhaps it had. And yet, thanks to that spark core he’d removed from MechaDeadpool, he lived.

And he would live.

Forever!


	4. Pyramid Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crosshairs, possibly the last of the Autobot Targetmasters, approaches the pyramid at Chichen Itza and finds trouble waiting for him. And an old friend. Deadpool also finds trouble in the form of the Decepticon coneheads, and learns a bit more about what is going on. He also makes lewd jokes about certain Decepticons' names. Optimus Prime rushes to the scene, we get our first glimpse of this story's main antagonists, and Sam Witwicky makes a discovery all his own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where this story crosses over with my previous work, Crosshairs: Targetmaster Down. I recommend you give that fic a read, so you'll have a better idea of how Crosshairs entered this one. A few more things will also make sense, like why the Slog unit is in Mexico. And where Crosshairs got his signature cloak/coat from.

Crosshairs drifted steadily closer to the pyramid, looking for a target. He wasn’t at all subtle in his method of breaking into enemy strongholds, preferring the shoot-first-and-questions-are-for-losers approach. He was not, however, about to waste ammo on just anything.

He’d been casing the joint for several breems, and hadn’t seen anything of note. There’d been one Earthen vehicle that might have been a robot in disguise, but he’d dismissed it immediately. It was a jeep with one wheel and three tires missing, a shattered windscreen, doors broken off and seats torn out, and an empty trailer on its side but still attached behind it. No self-respecting robot from either side of the cybertronian conflict would take an alt-mode that embarrassing.

Apart from that, there was nothing he could see that said, Decepticon. At least, not until a breem ago, when a fleet of fliers lifted off from somewhere very close by and roared off to parts unknown. He’d driven himself in the direction the fleet had come from, looking for the spot where they’d emerged.

Nothing.

Crosshairs fumed, well pissed off. Somewhere in this area was a Decepticon base. Any surviving members of his Targetmaster team would be here, along with the ‘Cons who’d killed the others.

Screw this skulking-around, cautions crap, he thought. It was time to flush them out. He transformed to robot mode, brandished both weapons, and stormed the pyramid, guns blazing.

Or he would have done, if a very large cannon hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t.”

Crosshairs considered going for broke, spinning around and emptying both guns into whoever was behind him. He didn’t, however, once he recognized the voice.  
“Hound?”

“Livin’ large,” his assailant replied. “Lower the blasters and turn around slow.”

“Hound, it’s me!” he said. “Crosshairs! Your Targetmaster bud.”

“I know,” Hound replied. “That’s why I want your weapons down.”

Crosshairs dropped his arms to his sides and turned to face his old friend. He couldn’t believe what he saw; based on the kibble on and around his body, Hound had been that dilapidated jeep he’d passed!

“You got wings now?” the jeep asked.

“Long story,” Crosshairs replied. “You look like slag.”

“Disguise,” Hound told him. “You should try it sometime. Now come with me. They’ve probably already detected your presence.”

At that moment, the sound of cybertronian fighters filled the air. Crosshairs and Hound took cover in the foliage and watched as several Decepticons flew overhead and dropped down behind the pyramid. One of them was Triggerhappy; Crosshairs was delighted to see that he’d lost all his armaments. Misfire and Needlenose were among the others, and two choppers - Vortex and Spinister - took up the rear. They carried a pair of Autobots; Crosshairs zoomed in and recognized one of them as Ratchet. The other was a red junkpile with swords, and was not someone Crosshairs could identify. It was likely an Autobot; if it turned out it wasn’t, he could still shoot him.

“We know where they are,” he said, raising his guns again. “Let’s kick some afterburner.”

“Wait!” Hound reached out to grab his fellow Autobot and missed. Crosshairs ran out from the cover of the trees into the clearing...

The explosion wasn’t that big, at least not by Autobot standards. Still, the mine Crosshairs triggered was enough to throw him off his feet. Crosshairs landed on another mine, which threw him backward into Hound.

“This whole place is a minefield!” Hound told him. “Why d’you think I’ve been hanging back? I saw a whole platoon of humans wiped out an hour ago. Would’ve helped them, but I was in the middle of a repair cycle. Our team took a lot of hits coming here.”

“What kind of mines?” Crosshairs wanted to know.

“E-20 energon mines,” Hound told him.

“Aw, the E-20s are nothing!” Crosshairs said. “The least pressure sets ‘em off. You got a field of those things, you do this.” So saying, he aimed his guns at the ground between the pyramid and them, and fired. Mines came to life and exploded in rapid succession.

“There goes the element of surprise,” Hound said, his face in his palm.

“We don’t have time for subtle!” Crosshairs snapped. “Dammit, they killed Pointblank.”

“What? Pointblank’s dead?” Hound roared. “You’re right,” he hefted his cannon in both arms. “Screw subtle. Follow me.”

Hound lumbered out from the trees and shot at the ground, exploding even more mines. Crosshairs followed, reloading his pistols as he went.

From above the pyramid, two choppers appeared. Followed by four more. They turned toward the Autobots and moved to intercept.

 

MechaDeadpool had intercepted the ground hard. Ratchet had landed just as hard, but was luckily still unconscious. Above, the two Decepticons who had dropped them were already choppering off.

MechaDeadpool sat up. He and the doc were in a stone enclosure the size of a football field, and they were not alone; several other cybertronians and more than a few humans littered the ground around him. All the humans looked dead, and the robots who weren’t in pieces were bound in some kind of energy chains.

Three Decepticons approached him, carrying similar chains.

“I don’t think so, pointy-heads!” Deadpool said, leaping his mech to its feet and drawing both guns. It was a lame insult and he knew it, but in his defence they did all have pointy heads.  
“Drop your weapons,” the lead pointy-head said, and all three trained their arm cannons on him.

“You first,” Deadpool replied, and shot all three of them. The leader looked surprised and shocked as he fell over dead. The two on either side of him leapt for cover and took only superficial injuries.  
“He killed Thrust!” the beige one cried. “He was supposed to be nearly dead.”

“Shut up and shoot back!” said the purple one, readying his cannons and looking for the target. “Jetblade!” he added, when he saw the red metal assailant behind his beige companion.

“Jetblade, huh?” Deadpool said, clutching the beige ‘con and holding a gun to his pointy head. “Cool name. Way better than Thrust. That guy’s a walking sex joke, amiright?  
“And who are you?” he pointed his gun at the purple one. “Is your name cool, or sex-jokey?”

“I am Dirge,” the pointy one replied.

“That would be a no on both counts,” Deadpool said. “What’s the deal, here? You guys collecting dead people and Autobot parts?” he glanced down at the dead pointy-head. “Was Thrust there into necrophilia? Kinky bastard...”

“The humans are of no consequence,” Dirge said, “as are the dead Cybertronians. The live ones, however, will serve as sacrifices to our two masters.”

“Uh huh,” Deadpool said. “Mayan temple, I guess that makes sense. You guys’ve gone native. The question is, why? And a better question is, why do I care? Answer: I don’t. I’m just killing time before my bud Primo Soup gets here. Plus, I’m nobody’s sacrifice. Trust me on this one, it won’t take. So save yourself some grief and walk away while you still can.”

Dirge smirked. Then he laughed. It was a grating noise that got under Deadpool’s skin - flesh and metal. It was unnerving and unsettling...

Very unsettling. Like it was rooting around in his head and bringing all his deepest fears to light.

Deadpool didn’t like it one bit, so he shot Dirge in the face. Or he would have, if his aim hadn’t been thrown off by the grating laughter. He got Dirge’s shoulder instead.

While the purple Decepticon fell back, Jetblade, also affected by the laughter, gave in to panic and ignited both thrusters in his legs. He flew out of MechaDeadpool’s grip, transformed, and soared into the sky. He fully expected the red ‘bot to try shooting him, but a backward scan revealed the mech happily waving at him.

The scan also revealed an explosive charge stuck to his fuselage.

A moment later, had it still been functional, Jetblade’s scanners would have told him he was dead.

Dirge recovered, rose to his knees. He would have risen further, but the sword through his wounded shoulder prevented it.

“Nice trick, Joker,” Deadpool said, “but you’re not laughing your way out of this.”

“Neither will you,” Dirge replied. “Look around you.”

Deadpool looked around. More Decepticons had arrived, some in the arena and others on the walls above it. Some had alt modes that were easily identifiable from their structural kibble. Others looked completely alien. All appeared heavily armed, which did not bode well for his escape chances.

And then there were the two at the top of the pyramid. One stood tall and menacing, wings on his back and blades on his arms. And horns atop his head, too. The other was hunched over, and had the appearance of some kind of beast, with clawed hands and wings that looked like a cloak.

If this was a video game, Deadpool thought, those two would be the boss fight.

But this wasn’t a game, it was a fanfic. That mean those two were probably representatives of significant characters from G1.

All fun, but ultimately a distraction from what he was really here for. He needed to stay in one piece long enough to nab Optimus Prime when he showed up.

A change of tactics was in order.

“Those guys your bosses?” Deadpool asked his purple pointy-head, nodding toward the pyramid.

“They are so much more than...”

“Simple yes or no, chuckles.”

“Yes,” Dirge replied.

“Cool,” said Deadpool. “Take me to your leaders.”

 

“I’ll take you all on!” Hound roared, throwing down his spent cannon and snatching up two smaller but just as deadly blasters.

Crosshairs rolled his eyes. His friend and fellow Targetmaster had emptied his entire clip into the air, and they still had three targets. Yes, two Decepticons lay in smoking ruins thanks to Hound’s enthusiasm (and their carelessness), but the others had proved much smarter. And maneuverable.

Crosshairs had taken down one; he was hardly opposed to long bursts of gunfire. He preferred to have a target first, however. And a reasonable chance of hitting it. The Decepticons had both the high ground and the numbers, and their weapons were superior, too. Crosshairs knew if his ammo ran out, his spark would be next.

Of course, ammo wasn’t Hound’s problem. He’d packed heavy for this trip, and had more guns than the combined Decepticons did. If he’d only use his brain, they might have a chance.  
An explosion threw Hound off his feet, causing him to drop the blasters. His assailant, Spinister, pressed his advantage, launching another missile salvo.

Not today, Crosshairs thought, taking careful aim before shooting both missiles well short of their target. The explosions kept Hound flattened against the ground, but they also knocked Spinister away.

All in all, good shooting! And if Spinister had been the only one menacing them, it might have counted for something. Two choppers, who he’d been keeping at bay, found their courage and advanced. One of them - Cop Tur - got in a lucky shot. It wasn’t a bad injury - Cop Tur’s weapons weren’t particularly powerful - but it was enough to drop Crosshairs to his knees. He aimed and fired at the Decepticon and scored many hits. Unfortunately, Cop Tur made up for his pitiful guns and ungainly appearance with some of the strongest armour. It would take a lot more than Crosshairs had to puncture it.

Fortunately, Vortex chose that moment to attack. His rotors were specially designed to create tornado-like funnels of wind, used to pick helpless victims off the ground and then drop them from the sky. Crosshairs didn’t fancy the role of helpless victim, but the attack gave him an idea. He didn’t resist, allowing himself to be scooped. Cop Tur hovered close, probably enjoying the spectacle.

Perfect.

One huge difference between Vortex and Cop Tur was that Vortex’s armour wasn’t nearly as strong. Especially the underbelly, which was especially vulnerable during his signature maneuver. It was still a difficult target for the average Autobot to hit while being spun around in the air...

But Crosshairs was not the average Autobot. He scored a direct hit on Vortex’s undercarriage, and at the same time he deployed his parachutes. If he’d timed it right...

He had. His chutes went right into Cop Tur’s rotors, tangling them instantly.

Vortex fell away, sparks flying from his wounded undercarriage. The tornado effect stopped, and Crosshairs fell. So did Cop Tur, his rotors rendered useless. Crosshairs had hoped his new ‘coat’ would help to break his fall, but no such luck. He belly-flopped onto the ground with almost enough force to knock him unconscious.

Cop Tur hit the side of the pyramid a lot harder, exploding on impact.

Vortex steadied himself and transformed, landing in front of Crosshairs. Before the green gunner could react, Vortex kicked him hard in the face. Crosshairs fell over on his back, head spinning, guns dropped. He had a brief glance of Hound grappling with a robot-mode Spinister - no help coming from that direction - and then he was staring down the barrel of Vortex’s gun.

He’s got me, Crosshairs thought, and realized he was going to die.

Just then, a jet soared out from behind the pyramid. A moment later, it exploded. Vortex turned his head to look...

Crosshairs snatched up his blaster and shot the Decepticon clear through the spark. Vortex fell backward, dead.

Crosshairs smiled and stood, allowing himself a moment to savour his triumph. Then Hound crashed into his side and they both collapsed in a heap.

“Autobot filth,” Spinister said, advancing on the felled Autobots. He was a bulky Decepticon, apparently more than a physical match for Hound. He also had two massive arm cannons complimenting his shoulder-mounted missile launchers.

“Aw crap,” Hound said, and Crosshairs thought that summed up his feelings perfectly.

“You don’t deserve to be sacrificed,” Spinister went on. “If it were up to me, I’d kill you both and be done with it.”

“Sacrifice?” Crosshairs said. “What are you talking about?” If he could keep the Decepticon talking...

“Of course, with no witnesses, who is to say you weren’t killed in the battle?” Spinister went on, ignoring Crosshairs’ question. “Yeah, that works for me.”

Crosshairs tensed to move. Hound’s impact had knocked the guns from his hands (I really need to work on my grip, he thought), but one of Hound’s holster compartments was within easy reach. His hands were concealed behind his friend’s massive girth; he could get the drop on the Decepticon, if he had one more moment to open the holster, eject the pistol, and fire.  
But he didn’t have another moment. Spinister aimed both arm cannons, and Crosshairs could hear the approaching rumble of Thanatron, Cybertronian Angel of Spark-Failure...

Except it wasn’t Thanatron. A red, flaming mass exploded from the foliage and hammered into Spinister like the Freight Train of Death. Spinister’s right arm was crushed and his torso caved in.

The red, flaming mass was already transforming. Twin swords shot out from the Autobot’s arms; one slash severed Spinister’s right leg, and as he fell sideways the second sword went through the crushed armour and into his spark casing.

Spinister collapsed, dead.

And Optimus Prime stood victorious above him.

“It’s the Prime,” Hound said, the awe in his voice robotically nauseating. Crosshairs sneered, unimpressed. There had been a lot of stories about this guy; would he actually live up to any of them?

Of course, that takedown of Spinister had been pretty sweet...

“I would’ve taken him,” he said, pushing Hound off of him and standing back up.

“You’re the Targetmasters,” Optimus said, sheathing his swords. “Hound and Crosshairs. Where are the others?”

“Dead,” Crosshairs replied. “Well, I don’t know what happened to Sureshot....”

“He was taken,” Hound said. “Same time I was. I broke free and fell...”

“So he’s here,” Optimus said. “Ratchet as well, possibly others. Where did these Decepticons,” he gestured at the bodies around them, “originate from?”

“Behind that Pyramid,” Hound told him. “We were gonna sneak around...”

“No time for the subtle approach,” Optimus said. “Recover your weapons and follow me. We’re taking the high road.” Optimus jogged to the side of the pyramid and began to climb. Hound and Crosshairs looked at each other, then hurriedly snatched up their guns. Hound, naturally, took longer.

“Take care,” Optimus called down to them. “There’s a mercenary hunting me, name of Dead Pool. Here,” Optimus sent both Autobots the file he’d created on the merc. “Watch out for that one. Now hurry and roll up.”

Optimus Prime resumed climbing, and the two Targetmasters hurried to catch up.

 

“What’s up?” Sam said as he and Bumblebee approach Jolt. The blue Autobot stood on the beach at Xel-Ha, right next to the head of the once-mighty OctoPunch.

“I don’t think he’s gettin’ up,” Bumblebee sampled, taking in the enormity of the cybertronian carcass. Most of the body lay in the bay, but the head and one arm where on dry land. There was clear evidence that the body had been tampered with; sections had been drilled into, bits had been carved off, and the head looked like it had lost a fight with some C-4.

“The last of Cemetery Wind pulled out an hour ago,” Jolt told them. “Something about an Autobot sighting at an abandonned ‘asset’. Before that, they’d been trying to cut the big ugly here into transportable pieces. Tell the truth, I think they were about ready to give up when they got the call.”

“What happened to the head?” Sam asked, approaching a hole in OctoPunch’s left temple. He felt safe - the thing was dead - but he still felt a nervous tingling.

Or was it his Prime sense?

“They wanted the brain,” Jolt said. “Took all the memory circuits they could get their hands on. I connected to it when they were gone, but there wasn’t much left. Enough to learn his name had been OctoPunch, and that he was the Harbinger of Chaos.”

“Not any more,” Bumblebee sampled, following Sam. “Where they come from?”

“Besides Cybertron? No idea,” Jolt said, following them. “But I got the sense that he’d been under the bay for a really, really long time. He had a purpose, but damned if I know what it is.”

Sam approached the side of the house-sized skull. There was definitely something his Allspark-brain liked about this thing. The tingling was familiar... he’d felt it before.

“What else do we know?” Bumblebee sampled.

“Well, there was an excavation around the other side,” Jolt said. “Something about a busload of nuns...”

“Whoa!” Sam said. He remembered where he’d felt that feeling before. In the meeting at work. Right before he’d gone all prophetic. He reached out his hand...

“No touchie!” Bumblebee sampled.

Too late. Sam’s hand touched the metal of OctoPunch’s body, and suddenly his mind was a billion miles away...


End file.
